Lonely Stories by Xavier St John (best management books of all time .txt) 📕

arm's length and popped a third time. Damien winced as a sharp pain raced through his head, images of sand and red figures invading his thoughts. The sky rumbled, and Damien's mind cleared. Jesus looked up nervously before offering Damien some bread and fish from thin air, both of which he politely declined. The cherub rematerialised, panting and sweating as he quickly flew to the bench.
"He's coming sir," he gasped, breathing heavily.
Damien's head swung around.
"Who's coming?"
"Sir, we don't have long. What do I do?"
Jesus stood up, re-adjusted his toga and ran a hand through his hair.
"Let me do the talking," he commanded.
"Who's coming?" Damien asked again, louder and more forcefully. The Messiah turned, pale-faced, and offered Damien a weak smile.
"Just don't say anything. It'll be okay, I promise."
As the final word left his lips, the white ground blackened and evaporated as a robed figure ascended through the cloud.

"Dracula! How nice to see you!" Jesus smiled, holding out a hand to the vampire. Dracula's eyes scanned the area and narrowed when he saw Damien. He strode towards him, ignoring Jesus and the cherub. As the vampire passed him, Jesus put a restraining hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
"There's no need for that. It was a filing error, he's one of ours."
Dracula's head snapped round as he stared at the Son of God, his eyes boring a hole straight through his skull.
"He signed a blood pact. He's ours now." the vampire rasped. Damien's eyes widened. Jesus wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, and let out a nervous laugh.
"Of course he didn't! Right Damien? Right?"
Damien stared at Jesus, a horrifying conclusion reaching him as his stomach dropped. Jesus looked at Damien, then back at a grinning Dracula, then back at Damien. His weak smile evaporated.
"Oh God..."

Dracula stalked over and grabbed Damien by the shoulders. Damien snatched at the bench, his hands passing through the wooden slats, and writhed desperately as he was dragged along. The cherub's mouth hung open in shock and Jesus looked away as Dracula heaved Damien towards the three doors. Flicking his long, white hair out of his face, Dracula squinted at the doors and muttered angrily to himself. He hauled a struggling Damien to the door on the left, and opened it. A heavenly chorus of trumpets and angelic voices erupted from within. Dracula rolled his eyes and slammed the door, abruptly cutting off the beautiful melody and closing the gate to Heaven. Eventually he made it to the door on the right with his prize. The vampire prince glanced back at Jesus, offered him a wicked grin and dragged Damien through the doorway.

The air hit Damien like a truck. It was scalding hot, chokingly thick and black, like a thick smoke. Dracula closed the door behind them, and the room was plunged into darkness. A slow snicker echoed around Damien, growing louder and louder until it was a hysteric cackle. A white spotlight suddenly burst to life. Damien instinctively raised his arms to cover his eyes and found his hands were manacled together. Squinting at the bright light, Damien could make out a flat steel table in front of him and a small white object atop it. A small movement in his peripheral vision caught Damien's eyes, and a shadowy shape against the darkness of the room stepped out in front of him.

"You are not to talk. You are to listen. Do you understand?" said the grey shadow softly. Damien nodded profusely.
"Good. You're lucky Dracula was so convincing, or Satan would've come and met you here himself."
Damien frowned. Almost as though it sensed his disapproval, the spotlight intensified, making him wince.
"Not only did you do a deal with the devil, which is unbelievably stupid, you also died before you could enjoy the price of your soul."
The table began to glow red and Damien's palms exploded in pain as they burnt against the metal. The metal centre of the table melted, and a geyser of lava erupted through it.
"You were apparently even destined for heaven, but no. You sold your soul for nothing. This is where I had to step in," said the shadow as they walked forward obscured by the gooey pillar of billowing lava. As a rumble resonated through the ceiling, lumps of rock crashed onto the silver table and the lava shrank back down into the ground. Across the table, a man covered in old, brown rags smiled pityingly at Damien.
"My name is Saint Paul, or Saul for short. We're going to kill you properly."

A wave of panic hit Damien until he realised, he was already dead. A tsunami of confusion followed, and Saul could see the vexation written across Damien's face.
"Right. In short. I am Saul." the man said slowly pointing to himself.                                                            "I did some bad things, but also some very good things - hence why I am both a saint, but stuck in hell. Have a Google sometime. Dracula contacted me - he's never really been that evil," said Saul, sensing the requirement for explanation. Dracula shrugged in the corner, looking at the steaming ground.
"He was worried what the devil would do to you, so told me you needed safe passage out of hell. However, Dracula also needs to seem evil, so the devil doesn't torture him either, hence the subterfuge." Damien's mouth opened and shut a few times like a goldfish.
"The plan is, I'll do a quick miracle, get you back up to the cloud and the devil won't notice. Besides, he can't do anything once you're there, he doesn't have a way up - holy land, one-way doors, no demonic items etc. Okay?"
Nodding, Damien's eyes panned around his surroundings nervously.
"Let's go then," Damien whispered. Saul smiled and grabbed him. Pop.

Saul and Damien reappeared back on the cloud, beside the oak bench that sat a few metres from the three doors. Keeling over, Damien retched hoarsely, covering the pure white with a thin layer of green. Saul paced around, looking up and down the enormous floorspace before turning to Damien with a relieved grin on his face.
"Looks like nobody saw," he announced.
"Pop through that door in the middle and you're safe. Hope you don't have to wait too long." the double-agent cheekily saluted the vomiting Damien before blinking back out of existence. Coughing out the last of the contents of his stomach, Damien wearily glanced up at the door. A few metres separated him and safety. A few metres containing a small ivory needle.

Damien pushed himself into one knee, a thin line of drool drizzling from his lips. The needle began faintly glowing a demonic red. Damien's eyes widened as he scrambled to his feet, staggering to the side as he recovered from Saul's miracle. The needle was now daubed in a bloody colour, and humming, louder and louder. Damien took a step towards the door, and the needle exploded into a thick smog. A clawed hand reached out from the fog, and a deep voice boomed:
"I PAID FOR YOU!"

Damien lurched to the left as his vision spun, the devil rising from the now volcanic floor a metre in front of him. Loping around the hellish creature emerging into reality, Damien collapsed onto the white ground outside Satan's ashen circle. The devil was now at full height, and grinning manically at his prize. Damien dragged himself towards the central door, his knuckles rapping sluggishly on the white as the Devil began stepping towards him. A screech of pain shattered the pristine atmosphere. The Devil's foot, after making contact with the fluffy cloud, was dissolving into granules. Bellowing as he stepped closer to Damien, his other foot began disintegrating into sand too as he moved further out of his domain and into the light. The white door opened. A monotone, bored angel immediately began reading off a clipboard.
"Hello, welcome to purgatory - the time of your afterli-"
He was cut off by the howl of Satan himself, closing distance on a crawling Damien as he fell to pieces from the bottom up. The angel gulped and dived down to Damien, dragging him through the doorway. The devil raked his claws at Damien, a scything slash of black talons - cut short by a slamming door. One last primal scream emanated from the hallway, and then there was silence. The angel looked at Damien, sprawled across the floor, and stammered
"S-so... That was one hell of a ride." A Starry Night

 

A Starry Night

 

Johana's toes curled around the sand, creating tiny mountains that rose and fell under her feet. She lay with her feet closest to the sea, facing the stars above. Smiling into the darkness, she briefly scribbled notes in her journal before lying back down and refocusing on the shining sky above her. This was her world - her special spot at her special time, just the night sky to keep her company. The waves rolled gently, a quiet metronome of peace in an otherwise silent moment. Nobody else was awake. In the city behind her, the tall tower blocks were dark and the only lights were those that dotted the streets, illuminating the old roads for the night wind to blow down. Johana picked out a constellation in the darkness - she identified it immediately as Gemini and noted it down. An engine hum grew behind her. Cars at this hour were rare, but not unheard of - it could be a police car, or perhaps a tourist lost in the sprawling mess of Havana, on the wrong side for the airport. Johana's thoughts drifted back to the stars as the car drew nearer. Lost in the sky, she was still utterly captivated when the hum evolved into a throbbing growl beside her. Suddenly, the beach was drenched in light as a car door swung open behind her. She was no longer alone in the night.

Arlo woke suddenly to two bangs on his front door. Rubbing his eyes, he mumbled a reply as his legs swung out of bed and he sat up, peering at the rising sun that was slipping through his shutters. Swaying as he lumbered towards the door, an impatient fist rapped again, louder and stronger. Arlo yelled at the doorway, still half-asleep, and sagged against the wall beside his shutter. He yanked it inwards, opening his apartment to the outside world, and was greeted with a distraught woman pounding on his old wooden door.
"What do you want?" Arlo muttered sleepily, his eyes still shut as he learnt against the concrete. The woman turned to him, tears sliding down her cheeks as she cried, her hand slack against the door. Arlo's eyes snapped open, and without hesitation Arlo turned, unbolted his front door and swung it wide. The woman crashed into his arms sobbing, and Arlo hugged her as the morning sun rose across the street.

"I'm sorry, I know it's not much," said Arlo quietly as he cooked an egg and